


ours are the moments (i play in the dark)

by primalectra



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Depiction of Abortion, F/M, Heavy Swearing, Secret Relationship, Zutara Month 2020, barely-there smut, explicit mention of cheating, it gets pretty dark pretty fast, post-canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24623806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primalectra/pseuds/primalectra
Summary: Their most vivid memories were ones spent under the moonlight, so they choose the new moon to create the ones they want to forget – including a wretched, unforgiving love.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	ours are the moments (i play in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I borrowed the title from Lorde's Supercut, the fic is nowhere near as light as the song sounds. Please read the tags for content and trigger warnings before proceeding.
> 
> Originally written for Zutara Month 2020 (Quarantine Edition), day 13: Hidden.

_Everything happens under the moonlight; when he burns the last memories of a happy family, when she grapples with forgiveness, when he begs for forgiveness from her, when she comforts him in his sorrow. Their most vivid memories were ones spent under the brightness of the moonlight –_

_– So they choose the darkness of the new moon to create the ones they want to forget._

* * *

They’re back in the Earth Kingdom, two months after his coronation. His friends flood in, a little more gaunt-looking than they were when they parted ways weeks ago; ten weeks of peace talks, negotiating with rigid officials, and keeping the world from falling apart _(again)_ has forced all of them to grow up.

 _They’re so young,_ Iroh thinks with a twinge of sadness in his heart. _Too young to be this hardened by war._

But they are war heroes and war criminals – _was there any difference nowadays?_ – and war is cruel to the young and naïve. They’ve all had to grow up, regardless of whether it was due to a mother lost, a man killed, orgenocide _._

The three days that they have in the Jasmine Dragon are the only ones that the world will let them have to relive their youth; so Iroh lets them. _Just don’t touch the tea, the ceramics, the kettles, the incoming supply of food, stay away from the customers if you plan to play a full-body game of Elements– oh! And no going into the work room unless you plan to serve some tea!_

If Zuko had received this earful three months earlier, he would have rolled his eyes; instead, he smiles at his uncle and mimes a salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Zuko returns to the balcony; when he gets to the landing, he finds that its tiles are already upturned and the floor is suspiciously _wet._ “Sokka,” he starts, but the blue-eyed boy shushes him.

“Shut up, Zuko! I’m working on a masterpiece!”

The ink bleeds out on the page before he could dip his brush back in. _“What the hell, Katara!”_

“My hair loopies looked like black holes, Sokka! That was _not_ a masterpiece,” Katara yells back.

“I’d say I was pretty accurate,” Sokka responds, pulling out another blank scroll. Katara sticks her tongue out in response, but pulls back as soon as she sees Zuko.

“You look well,” she says, quickly pulling her eyes away from him. She cringes inwardly, berating herself for how _utterly_ _weird_ that sounded. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze.

“Thanks.”

Mai appears next to Zuko, scrutinizing her space buns.

 _Oh, Spirits,_ Katara thinks. _I should’ve stayed home._

* * *

It happened soon after his coronation, six weeks after they’ve won the war.

In between the flurry of paperwork and long, dragging meetings, she and her friends miraculously found a common time to spend together. They rendezvous in the palace garden, each bringing their own share for the party; Katara nearly doubles over with horrible flashbacks of sand dunes and mushroom clouds when she sees Sokka carry a crate of cactus juice.

Sokka catches her blanched look. “Oh come _on_ , it’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s distilled!”

“And besides, we’re _young_ , Katara. Loosen up a little!”

 _Sokka, you fucking idiot,_ she thinks much later, when her vision is distorted and her head – _or is that her body?_ – begins to sway. She looks around and attempts decipher her surroundings; in one corner, Toph is yelling angrily at Aang while he sleeps on top of overturned Pai Sho tiles. At her six o’ clock – _thank the Spirits_ – she could hear Suki and Sokka sucking face. “Get a fucking _room!_ ” Toph yells their way.

Zuko, however, is quiet. She sees him sulking by the corner, by their makeshift dining set up, taking another gulp of cactus juice. _Even when he’s drunk, he’s a depressing sight to see,_ she thinks somberly. She slowly picks up her glass, keeping a careful eye on it as she makes her way to him.

“Stop that,” she says, taking a seat next to him. Zuko looks at her with a mixture of confusion and offense, arching his only brow as he says, “I’m sorry?”

“Stop being so sad all the fucking time,” she says, taking her own gulp of cactus juice. She picks up an uneaten lemon tart from a plate and shoves it in her mouth. Zuko makes a noise.

“Mai walked out again.”

Katara swallows. “She always does.”

Zuko shrugs, because she’s right; Mai always walks out, only to waltz back in a few weeks after she’s cleared her head. “It sucks, though,” he says as he refills his glass. What he doesn’t say is that he’s no longer referring to Mai’s thousandth walk-out; _what sucks is that she keeps coming back, even when I don’t want her to, and I can’t bring myself to say no._

_I don’t know how to tell her that I want to be with you._

But Katara catches it anyway.

She washes the tang of the lemon tart down with more cactus juice; despite herself, she starts to sober. “I still don’t know how to tell Aang.”

Zuko takes a sidelong glance, checking to see if anyone else was watching. When he confirms that they’re in the clear, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Neither of them are married, but this _thing_ between them feels no less than an affair. How could they tell their friends – hell, how could they tell their _partners –_ that they’ve been hiding a _(painful, sorrowful)_ blossoming relationship since the comet left?

 _For war heroes, we sure are cowards,_ Katara thinks bitterly.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Zuko smiles at the memory; it happened under a full moon, when he woke up for the first time since collapsing after the Agni Kai.

Katara gives him a pained smile as she sets her glass down. Before she gets up to leave, she runs a single hand through his hair and briefly rests her palm against his scarred cheek. “Good night, Zuko.”

He follows her in response.

The guilt that gnaws at her heart keeps her feet running. _Maybe if I run fast enough,_ she thinks, _I could put all this behind me._

But Zuko is agile and quick and he gets to her door long before she reaches the guest hallway. 

_“Don’t,”_ she begs, her voice straining through the tears threatening to fall. “Stop it.”

Zuko tightens his grip on the handles. “But _you_ started it. You said it yourse–”

 _“I know!”_ she yells, tears leaking down her face. “Don’t you think that the guilt eats me _every fucking day?_ Every _fucking_ time she walks back into your life, my heart bursts with relief and guilt and _so much pain –_ don’t you ever think that?”

“And do you think that’s any different from how _I_ feel?” he yells back with unmasked remorse. “I see him every _fucking_ day, Katara. He’s in every meeting, signing every scroll beside me, and every time he says something, _I_ keep on having to absolve for my sins because, _Agni forgive me,_ I’m in love with his girlfriend and she’s in love with me too.”

Visions of a heartbroken boy of arrows fill her mind – _there’s so much yelling, crying, too many twisted apologies_ – and she all but crumbles when she says, “Get the _fuck out.”_

Zuko steps aside this time; but before she could bring a second foot through the door, he whirls her around and kisses her.

This kiss is different from its predecessors; it’s fervent, desperate, and filled with unspoken apologies – to _whom_ , however, she doesn’t know – and she gives in, because they’re both wretched on the inside.

They fall onto her mattress in a mess of limbs and tears. She’s crying and whimpering all at once, whispering his name through pained moans; his breath quickens as he moves down her body, his own shaking with regret, relief, and _(sick, twisted)_ pleasure. Through their agony and remorse, they hold each other like a lifeline – only letting go when he enters her.

Wretched, like they’ve always been.

When they finish, she thanks the spirits for the new moon that shrouds them in darkness.

* * *

When Zuko steps away from her to inspect Sokka’s new masterpiece, Katara starts to feel her head spin; she holds onto the parapet, her face blanching with fear and nausea. In her periphery, she sees Aang and Toph whirring earth and water against each other; the quick movements and the raucous laughter almost makes her double over.

_Oh fuck._

She darts for the nearest bathroom, careful not to slam the door; when her knees touch the ground, she retches all of her stomach’s contents. _No, no, no,_ she thinks as she grips the sides of the bowl. Her head continues swimming as she attempts to hurl the last of her insides. She hears the door open behind her, followed by the sound of alarmed voices. A flurry of _what happened? Are you okay? What the hell was that all about, Sugar Queen?_ assail her ears. Her head begins to spin again.

Katara tries to shoot a weak smile their way, but her face quickly contorts to agony as she empties her stomach once more.

When her stomach settles and her head clears, she no longer hears her friends’ incessant questioning; but the tingle behind her neck tells her that someone’s behind her, and the said person hands her a damp cloth. She wipes her mouth with it. “Thanks,” she says, her voice too weak to be heard.

“You’re a wise girl, you know,” Suki says. Katara tenses at the sound of her voice; she’s helped Suki through enough scares to know what she’s thinking.

“But it’s not Aang’s, is it?”

Katara shakes her head; Suki sighs and gently pulls Katara up from the floor. “Well, it’s a new moon tonight.”

Katara looks at her with a mix of relief and pain; Suki steps back in surprise. “You want to keep it?”

Katara shakes her head and bites her lip; she doesn’t want to keep it, but _why does it still hurt?_

Suki gently squeezes her arm in understanding; she then bends her head forward and whispers, “Will you be able to bloobend tonight?”

“Yeah,” she replies, still shaking from all her retching. As they cross the wooden floor of the teashop, she sees her friends cast terribly-masked and worried glances her way.

Zuko is nowhere to be found; Mai gives her a blank – yet knowing – look.

Suki never lets go of Katara’s arm until she reaches her room; when they’re sure that they’re out of earshot, Suki says, “I told them it was the new bean juice that we had on our way here.”

“Coffee?” Katara asks, amusement flitting through her eyes. Suki smiles.

“Bean juice.”

* * *

The bloodbending that happens that night is quick; she keeps an iron grip Suki’s arm as she forces her own blood outwards. The searing pain only lasts for a few seconds before she begins to leak red, and when she does, she holds back a strangled cry.

“I’ll wait outside,” Suki says, shutting the door behind her. Katara uses her bloodbending again to check for any abnormalities in her blood flow and eliminate any chance of blood poisoning; when she’s sure that her body is safe, she cleans up.

When she exits the bathroom, she pulls Suki into a hug. “Thank you,” she says, gripping the warrior with all that her gratitude could offer. She allows a single sob to escape her; Suki hugs her tightly in response.

* * *

A few minutes later, Zuko shows up at her doorway.

“It’s gone,” she says through gritted teeth and unrestrained tears.

Zuko says nothing as he walks towards her and gathers her into his arms; she lets herself cave into him as the full weight of the last month collapses onto her shoulders. With Aang in the next room and Mai in his, she feels sick, twisted, and–

Wretched, like they always will be.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took bit of angst, a sprinkle drama, and a whole lot of empty retching on my end. Thanks for reading! Would love to hear your feedback.
> 
> You can also find this story, among other works, at Tumblr: @maginaga.


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